


Shoot You Down

by livenudebigfoot



Series: stop trying to make me give this series a title like it's serious or something oh my god [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Casual Kink, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livenudebigfoot/pseuds/livenudebigfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got a really big bag of weed in my car." Or, a meditation on the flirtation technique of Leon Tao.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot You Down

**Author's Note:**

> I ship it because their first names both mean "lion" and also they got ball-gagged together that one time. That's it. That's the whole reason.

The cuffs hit the table in front of him with a rough clatter. They look police issue, but when he picks them up, he can feel that they’re not. They're too light, some kind of knock-off. They’d hold you for a minute, but if you were really strong or really wanted to get loose, you could. That’s all Fusco can take in before he’s snatching the handcuffs off the table and jamming them into his coat pocket while wishing he’d picked a darker bar for this. He snaps at Leon, “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
Leon shrugs, leans back in his seat. The guy’s halfway through a big pint glass, with an empty one off to the side, but he’s still looking pretty sober. The only sign that he might be a little tipsy is that his kelly green tie is a little bit loose. Leon’s more relaxed now than the last time Fusco saw him. Still a pain in the ass, though. “Hey, man," he says. "It’s just a suggestion.” He goes back to nursing his beer.  
  
“Yeah,” Fusco snorts. “Great suggestion. Are you trying to get your ass kicked?”  
  
Leon raises a thoughtful eyebrow, confers with the ceiling.  
  
“Jesus,” Fusco says. “Never mind.”  
  
“It’s more complicated than that,” he says decisively.  
  
He shakes his head. “Okay, fine. Whatever floats your boat, kiddo. Let me ask you something. You’re here, I’m guessing on a favor for the Suit…”  
  
“Good guess.”  
  
“…But you’re on business anyway, so you think, ‘Hey, I’ve got a great idea! What if I throw bondage shit at the guy who gets stuck babysitting me?’ How’d you reach that brilliant conclusion, smartass?”  
  
“I don’t know, dude.” Leon’s just slipping into the warm, friendly, unbothered place you enter when you've had more than one beer but less than two. His foot keeps resting on top of Fusco’s under the table and Fusco keeps kicking him away. “You just seemed like you could be into it.”  
  
Fusco rests his head in his hands and sighs. He doesn't ask why. He doesn't want to know.  
  
“Although I did spend like 3 hours tied _right_ up on you," Leon reflects, "so I guess I could have gotten my wires crossed. Whatever. No big deal. I’ll live.” He drains his pint, turns the empty glass over like it’s a shot, looks sort of proud of himself.  
  
Which, you know. Little guy, big drink. Fusco’s kind of impressed, in spite of everything.  
  
“Is that it?” Fusco asks. “You got any more weird sex bullshit you want to spring on me or are we done?”  
  
Leon thinks a second, rummages in his pocket and pulls out a ball gag which he bounces across the table to Fusco like it’s a fucking super ball. “That’s it.”  
  
“Jesus fuck,” Fusco mutters and he catches the gag on the second bounce, puts his hand under the table and hopes nobody saw that. He’s also hoping that really _is_ it because at this point he's not gonna be surprised if Leon pulls a fucking sex swing out of his briefcase or something. “Why do you carry this shit around with you?”  
  
Leon shrugs again. “You never know. I mean, whatever, I was a Scout when I was a kid. I’m big on preparedness. Deal.”  
  
Fusco squeezes the gag beneath the table, feels soft rubber and leather strap and little metal studs dig into his palm. “What made you think, after all the crap I went through last time, I’d let some twerp like you put one of these things on me?”  
  
With an air of vaguely intoxicated smugness, Leon inches forward, elbows on the table, looking Fusco in the eye. And he kind of likes that, that Leon’s not taller than him, because that would be unbearable on top of everything else. “It’s not for you,” Leon says.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Huh.  
  
He has to take his time working his head around that one, because he’s actually not sure if that’s his bag or not. Leon’s eyes light up and he pounces on that moment of uncertainty, plants his foot gently over Fusco’s like it’s a pin to keep him in place. “I’ve got a _really_ big bag of weed in my car,” he says.  
  
Fusco clears his throat, blinks, shifts in his seat. “You do know I’m a cop, right?”  
  
“Dude, why do you think I brought the handcuffs?”  
  
 _Jesus._  
  
“Look, man,” Leon continues, knocking their knees together. “I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend or whatever. I’m just thinking, you know, we could go out to my car, roll one, I could blow you if you’re into it and we’ll see where it goes from there.”  
  
Fusco’s still thinking. Well, trying to think. More like he’s spinning his wheels and he’s just not going anywhere.  
  
“Just, you know. More fun than the two of us sitting around my hotel room glaring at each other all night. Or, I thought so. Whatever. I’m gonna go pay the bill,” Leon says, pushing out his chair, rising to his feet, rocking unsteadily for a moment, “and you can just think it over a second, okay?”  
  
“‘Kay,” Fusco says, kind of lost, and Leon pats him on the shoulder as he goes.  
  
After a few seconds, Fusco gets up, runs a hand through his hair, and follows after him because yeah, okay, he could be into that.


End file.
